


Not Dead

by Marquis_de_LargeBaguette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Set before Season 4, but if he isn't i'm calling it, he probably is though, this is what happens when i theorize that Moriarty still isnt dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 16:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10723392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquis_de_LargeBaguette/pseuds/Marquis_de_LargeBaguette
Summary: Nothing is the same without the consulting criminal.





	Not Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This is horribly written sorry. I didn't know where I wanted to go with this.

“It’s been a pleasure.”

He would stand there with that skull of his balancing on his fingertips. His skinny figure waved from one side to the other slowly, using his other hand to bring the skull back in its place. His head turning over to the consulting detective that sits in a chair that wasn’t his. The chair that was John’s. He sauntered over, he was like a shadow. Looming over the detective, so still. So perfect.

“But I’m dead.”

His legs straddled his thighs. Those arms of his snake around his neck, fingers running through his black and curly hair.

He knows he’s dead. But there’s always a feeling of his presence whenever he’s in his flat. John doesn’t feel it. But he does.

“Nobody survives a gunshot, Sherlock.”

He leans in until their lips are grazing against each other. The detective wants to connect their lips together. A loving kiss, or one filled with passionate hate, it didn’t matter. He had to be alive. He couldn’t be so stupid enough to just put that bullet through that mouth. But it wasn’t impossible that he slipped in his own game. The spider jumping from his own web.

A suicide.

“You’re obsessing too much.”

He is. He can feel his fingers on his nape, tracing small patterns with his fingernail. He can’t help but rest his hands on the criminal’s hips.

“Fear not, dear Sherlock. I’ll be back before you even knew I was gone.”

He pushed himself forward into the gentle kiss. It felt good. Their bodies pressed against each other and their lips finally making contact. Both of them never wanted it to end. But one of them, in the end, had to pull away. It’s disappointing that they can’t stay like this forever.

“Death is boring. Wait for me.”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open. He’s a little dizzy, and confused. Sunlight came through the glass panes of his windows. His desk was lacking cleanliness. Papers were askew. Somehow, John’s laptop is still in perfect position. He turned his head. Mrs. Hudson left a cup of tea for him. It must’ve been cooling down by now.

He was having a dream. . . about Moriarty. Not being dead. What a silly dream, so he shakes it off rather quickly. Instead, he focuses more on how he’s sitting in John’s spot. He didn’t like how he was more vulnerable to attacks in this position. He couldn’t see what was behind him, and while he trusted his instincts, sometimes they weren’t fast enough.

The detective stood up. In the blinding rays of the sun, he could see a slip of paper placed in his seat. With a perked eyebrow, he reached over to grab it off his chair.

_Not dead. JM xx_


End file.
